


Satori

by zanoranna (rei_c)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, Music, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/zanoranna
Summary: The only respite Esteban has from a life he hates is music. No one's ever understood that before, not until he meets Guti.





	Satori

**Author's Note:**

> A response to [this](http://touchline.livejournal.com/727.html?thread=32215#t32215) Touchline prompt.

"So," Rubén asks, "are you coming with us?" 

Esteban looks up from the pile of books and rubs his eyes. "I think I was falling asleep," he says. "I missed everything you said. Sorry, but what?" 

Rubén sighs and Javi rolls his eyes but they're both used to it by now. Esteban would know if they weren't; neither of his friends are shy about telling him when he's pissing them off.

"The empty factory, on the edge of town? The one that was bought seven months ago? It's open," Javi says. 

"Open?" Esteban asks, frowning. "A factory?" 

"It's not a factory any more," Rubén says. "Listen, just. We'll pick you up at nine, all right? Pack up the books, go home, spend some time with Sofia, and put on some clean clothes."

Esteban looks down at his books. He has exams in a month and he's nowhere near ready. He has to do well on them, _has_ to; he's been having trouble with his classes this term and he'll only be able to please his parents if he aces his exams and scrapes out an acceptable mark. 

"Come on, Esteban," Javi says. "One night. You need a break."

"One night," Esteban says, giving in and trying to hide his relief. "Nine, right?" 

Rubén and Javi grin at each other and Esteban resists the urge to shudder. It's never good when those two look at each other like that. 

//

He gets home and eats a quick meal, showers, gets dressed. When he's done, Esteban checks the time and grins when he sees that he's got about two hours before his friends are coming to pick him up. He goes into his bedroom and picks up a guitar from its stand, then sits on the edge of his bed and plucks the strings. 

"Sofia," he murmurs, as he adjusts the tuning keys. "I missed you, baby girl." 

It doesn't take long to tune the guitar -- Esteban keeps Sofia ready to play even when he doesn't have time -- and soon enough he's running through scales, her strings brushing across the calluses on his fingers, the sound echoing through the small apartment. Once he's warmed up and she sounds ready to go, Esteban lets loose, playing whatever comes to mind: first a few Beatles and Rolling Stones riffs, then a quick hop to his favourite Tomatito song, then to The Who, then the Paco de Lucia song he's been trying to learn for weeks. 

Esteban's got the majority of the song down but there's a section in the middle that he's been having trouble with. If he could read music it would be different, he could go online and learn it in a matter of minutes, but Esteban plays by ear and by instinct. Sofia never seems to mind, humming under his hands, giving voice to everything Esteban feels and wants and needs. 

"Okay, baby girl," he says, and plucks out the first few chords of the song. He goes through the parts he knows at speed, then slows down when he reaches the tricky section. One note at a time is still too fast; Esteban tries over and over again. He thinks he gets it at one point, plays it the same way again and this time it sounds a note or two off. 

Before he can hit frustration, Esteban stops and takes a deep breath. "What do you say, baby: we take a break from this one a little longer? Maybe I need to listen to it a few more times."

Esteban waits for an answer; Sofia can't talk but her strings are warm and inviting beneath his fingers as he picks his way through "Tamacun."

When he's done, trying to catch his breath and stop grinning, failing at both, he hears applause. Esteban looks up so fast that it's possible he ended up with whiplash. 

"We either need to find you a Gabriela or a Camaron de la Isla," Rubén says from where he's sitting on the kitchen table.

Esteban flushes and sets Sofia back in her stand. "Or neither," he says. "I'm studying to be a doctor, remember?" 

Javi snorts. "Only because you want to please your parents, Esteban. And it's making you miserable. Life shouldn't be a _chore_. That guitar makes you happy." 

Before Esteban can argue, Rubén says, quietly, "You were smiling while you played. I haven't seen you smile like that at all lately." 

They're his friends; they mean well. They just don't understand. 

"I thought we were going out?" Esteban asks, giving them a tight smile. 

Javi and Rubén exchange looks and Javi's the one who sighs and says, "Yeah, all right. Come on." 

//

The factory's been empty for years; up until about six months ago, the only people who went inside were squatters and urban explorers. Esteban doesn't come down to this sound of town much so he hadn't realised just how different it looks now. The bricks have been pressure-washed and painted and the small square windows have been replaced with large ones, clean and gleaming. The windows are open and Esteban can hear the sounds of music and people laughing floating outwards. Lanterns are hung from the top of the building and there's a line out front almost as long as the block. 

"Fuck," Esteban says, eyes wide. "I'm not dressed for this." 

He'd put on a pair of black jeans and the only clean shirt he had, a red button-up that's faded and just about too small to wear anymore, but his hair's been a lost cause almost since birth and he looks as tired as he feels anymore. 

"Come on," Javi says, and pushes him from behind. "You'll be fine." 

They bypass the line and go right to the door. Esteban nearly chokes when he sees Miguel Torres standing there with a clipboard. Miguel grins when he sees them, waves them closer. 

"You managed to pry the pirate away from his books?" Miguel asks Rubén, giving him a hug and then bumping fists with Javi. "Never thought that would happen." 

"Hey," Esteban says, leaning in to give Miguel his own one-armed hug. "Just because I haven't dropped out of school." 

Miguel grins, says, " _Yet_. Come on, admit it, Esteban. You're jealous." Esteban snorts and Miguel grins a little wider when Esteban doesn't argue with him. 

"So, what's it like tonight?" Rubén asks. 

"Crazy," Miguel replies. "And busy. If you're going in, go now. I'll see you later, okay?" 

Rubén smiles and nods, and when Miguel moves to the side, Rubén disappears inside the building. Javi prods Esteban along and Esteban rolls his eyes, following Rubén. 

Esteban had snuck into the factory on a dare once or twice, back before he started university. He remembers piles of rubble and crumbling pillars, shattered glass everywhere and rats hidden in the dark corners. This, the way it looks now, couldn't be more different. 

The pillars are painted with bright murals that echo the paintings on the walls. The floor's concrete is smooth and cold even through Esteban's shoes and there are fans hung from the ceiling, spinning lazily in the heat. It still looks a little like a factory, though; there's glass everywhere and the sharp lines of the architecture haven't been softened. There's a dance floor on one side but otherwise the tables and chairs look sleek, with sharp corners and shining steel legs. 

The place is packed, people sitting at tables, standing at the bar, some of them dancing as a flamenco group, arrayed on a heightened stage at the other side of the dance floor, plays and sings. Waiters are running back and forth with trays of food and drinks; everywhere Esteban looks, people are smiling and the women have red paper roses in their hair. 

"Amazing, isn't it?" Javi says, as they follow Rubén through the crowd and towards the area where the bar meets the dance floor. Esteban's trying to take it all in but he keeps glancing over at the band. They're playing a Paco Peña song with their own twists and the woman dancing on stage swirls and dips to the music as the men sing, clap, and stomp their feet. 

Something inside of Esteban uncurls and relaxes for the first time in months. 

//

They stand at the bar for an hour, drinking and eating tapas while they talk. The food is simple, something Esteban's mother could make without any difficulty, and it fits this place, makes it feel as if Esteban's at home with a hundred people, hanging out and having a good time. 

Eventually the three of them move to a table at the edge of the dance floor. Esteban eats and drinks but he watches the band, especially the three men with guitars, each guitar different and played differently, but blending together so well that it's hard to know where one man's music ends and another's begins. 

Around midnight, the band finishes up. A few of them leave the stage but the guitar players all stay. Two of them put down their guitars and the third, the oldest, plays recklessly fast as a different man winds his way through the crowd, shaking hands with people at tables, leaning down to give a few women kisses on the cheek. He's blond and blue-eyed, wearing skin-tight jeans and a ridiculously orange shirt, but Esteban is captivated at the smile on the man's face. 

The man gets to the stage and everyone gets a little quiet when the guitar player stops, starts a different song. The other two band members start to clap as the man in orange clears his throat and smiles out over the crowd. 

"His name is Guti," Rubén whispers, leaning over to Esteban. "He's the one who owns the place. He comes out and sings one song every night; apparently it's more for a laugh than anything else." 

Guti starts to sing a Canelita song that Esteban's heard before. He's not as good as Canelita, that's for sure, but his voice is smooth and he's having fun, shaking his hips and clapping in rhythm to the song, missing words to laugh every so often, and as the guitarist and Guti reach the song's crescendo, people all over the restaurant start to yell out, " _¡Ole!_ "

Esteban feels the atmosphere like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. He feels full of awe. He feels _alive_.

As Guti takes a bow and then turns to applaud the band, Esteban sits there, breathless and speechless. 

Guti leaves the stage, goes behind the bar, and Esteban turns back to his friends to see Rubén and Javi grinning at him. "Oh, fuck off," Esteban groans, and chugs down the rest of his beer. 

"Our little Esteban has a crush," Javi says, beaming. 

Rubén laughs, says, "Aren't you glad you came out with us, now? You would've never found Guti otherwise." 

"You're going to invite us to the wedding, right?" Javi teases. "Or make us your groomsmen? We'll plan an excellent bachelor party for you." 

Esteban glares at them but a moment later there's a hand on his shoulder. Esteban turns to see the old guitarist standing there. He makes a move to stand up but the guitarist shakes his head and says, "Please, no need to get up. I just wanted to say -- you were watching us all night. You have the look of a player, _señor_." He reaches down, takes one of Esteban's hands in his own, and runs his fingers over the calluses on Esteban's hand. "Sí, you play. Bring your guitar sometime and join us." 

He pats Esteban on the head and leaves Esteban sitting there, staring. 

"Esteban, that's," Rubén starts to say. 

"Yeah," Esteban says, cutting his friend off mid-sentence. Esteban stands up, says, "Thanks. I had fun," and leaves a handful of Euros on the table to cover his part of the tab. He walks out, glancing at Guti on the way and almost falters when he sees Guti looking right at him. 

Almost.

//

Esteban throws himself into his studies. He doesn't go back to the restaurant, hardly talks to Rubén and Javi when they call or corner him in the library. He goes to all his classes, does all the work, and a month later he collapses onto his bed after the last exam is done. Esteban is pretty confident that he's flunked them all. His parents are going to kill him. 

//

Exam scores are coming out in the morning; Esteban can't sleep. He goes for a walk, traipsing aimlessly through the neighbourhoods. He's lost deep in his thoughts, trying to decide what he's supposed to do when -- not if -- he gets kicked out of university. Sound suddenly breaks into his awareness, the music of a familiar flamenco band. Esteban looks up, finds himself standing in front of Guti's restaurant. 

Esteban stands there, staring at the front door for what feels like forever before he says, "Fuck it," and heads to the door. 

It's closed but not locked, so Esteban opens it, peeks inside. The place is empty save for the people who work there, cleaning everything up, and the flamenco band, sitting on the stage and laughing as they play and sing. 

"We're closed," one of the waiters calls out. 

Esteban flinches back, just a little, and flushes. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't. I. The door was unlocked." 

"Ah, the player," a guitarist says, the old guy who talked to Esteban before. "Come in, play with us for a while." 

Esteban looks behind him, outside into the dark night, and then back inside, where the air is warm and the lights are inviting. He should leave. He'll have to confess to his parents tomorrow; he needs sleep. 

Esteban steps into the restaurant. 

Within minutes, he's seated on the stage, a guitar in his hands. "We call her Lupita," the old guitarist, who introduced himself as Ernesto, says. "She has teeth and needs to be tamed before she will sing. But I think she will sing for you." 

The guitar's strings are cold to the touch, tightly wound, and she's painted black apart from the silver and red flowers stencilled up and down her ribs and around her sound hole. Esteban runs his fingers across the strings, picks out a few of his favourite chords, and feels her vibrate in his hands. He smiles, starts to play some arpeggios, lets his fingers get used to the way she feels as his arms settle to her weight. 

"Let's play," one of the other guitarists says, and he starts to strum a song that Esteban's never heard before. The band members with instruments all join in immediately, though, so it's a familiar song to them, and everyone else stomps or claps to the beat. 

Esteban listens, waits, starts to join in once he thinks he hears the melody. The others smile at him and Esteban grins back, getting more confident once they switch to some more modern flamenco, the kind fused with rock that Esteban puts on and listens to as he cooks and cleans his apartment. 

He's not sure how long he plays for but there's a hint of sun coming in through the windows when he finally -- reluctantly -- hands Lupita back to Ernesto. 

"She's faithful," Ernesto says, pinning his dark eyes on Esteban. "She'll play for one and one alone. You've tamed her, _señor_. I'll keep her for you; you will join us again?" 

"Come tonight." Esteban turns, sees Guti straddling a chair, watching him. Esteban swallows and Guti says, again, "Come tonight. You can play with them." He smiles, sudden and wide, and adds, "Maybe you can play when I sing. You're good enough to distract everyone from my awful voice." 

Esteban blinks and asks, "If you don't think you sound good, why do you sing?" before he can stop himself. 

Guti looks at him, _really_ looks, and says, "Music was my first love. It always has been. I sing because I can and because I want to. Do I need any other reason?" Esteban shakes his head, suddenly ashamed, and Guti smiles again, so different from the expression he just had, sits up, claps his hands together. "Good! It's a deal: you come and play, here, tonight. We open at seven; come anytime." 

Just like that, Esteban's standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, staring at the closed, locked door, and apparently expected back in less than sixteen hours. 

"What the hell just happened?" he asks himself, then trudges home.

//

Esteban thinks about it all day. He even dreams about it while he's sleeping. He feels Guti's eyes, watching him so intently, and can't get what Ernesto said out of his mind. At seven, he finds himself picking up Sofia and putting her in her case, finds himself changing into his oldest, most worn-in and comfortable pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, finds himself sliding on his favourite pair of boots that echo on the pavement as he walks to Guti's restaurant. 

Miguel's at the door again and his eyes light up when he sees Esteban, mouth dropping when he notices the case in Esteban's hand. "Fuck me," Miguel breathes. "We're going to be _packed_ tonight." 

Esteban gives Miguel a nervous smile and says, "Guti said to," trailing off as he gestures at Sofia's case. 

"Yeah," Miguel says. "He told me to expect you. But I. When the hell did he convince you to _do_ this?" 

"About five this morning," Guti says, slinging one arm around Miguel's shoulders. Guti's grinning even though his eyes are serious and intent as he looks at Esteban. "I took advantage of him when he was too tired to say no." 

Miguel chokes a little and Esteban flushes. Guti's smile only grows, seeing it. "Come on," Guti says. "There's a chair on stage waiting for you. They have Lupita tuned but I see she's going to be jealous tonight," eyes flicking to take in the case. 

"Um," Esteban says. He curses himself, gives himself a mental kick, because there's being attracted to someone and playing it off, and then there's being an _idiot_.

Guti grins, takes Esteban by the hand and pulls him inside. They walk along the wall, out of the main crowd, and Guti gives Esteban a little shove when they get to the stage. 

The band smiles at him but waits until the end of the song before they welcome him, rearranging themselves and letting Esteban sit down. 

"Lupita is ready for you, if you want," Ernesto says. "But if you would prefer, we can take a break so you can tune your _señorita_." 

Esteban nods; he wants the familiar comfort of Sofia in his hands while he's doing this. 

//

It takes ten minutes for him to tune Sofia, murmuring endearments to her as he bends over her, blocking out the sight of everyone else watching him. The band comes back and Esteban plays with them, losing time just as he did in the morning, living inside of the music and having the time of his life. 

He doesn't notice the minutes turning into hours, and when it hits midnight and Guti makes his way toward the stage, Esteban looks up for what feels like the first time all night. His eyes find Guti without an issue, watching as the man works the crowd; Guti looks up at him once or twice, his eyes full of heat. Esteban flushes at the promise he sees in Guti's eyes and glances over the crowd. He wants to die when he sees Rubén and Javi at the bar, staring at him. 

"We need to talk," Javi mouths at him. 

Rubén holds up a piece of paper and waves it in Esteban's direction. Esteban has no idea what's on the paper at first, until the colours in the corner bleed together and form an all-too-familiar crest. 

Fuck. Marks were posted today at the university and Esteban didn't even _look_. He completely _forgot_. His parents are going to kill him. 

Guti's on stage, looking at Esteban, who's so full of shock and horror that his fingers have gone numb. "I," Esteban says. "I can't do this." 

Esteban makes a move to stand up but Guti's hand is on his shoulder, pressing him down and keeping him seated. "You will," Guti says. "You can. Because you _have_ to. This is when you feel like yourself, right? When you feel good, when you feel like you can breathe, when you feel _alive_? When life is worth living? _That's_ why you are here and _that_ is why you're going to play. Well," he adds, giving Esteban a lopsided grin, "that and to distract everyone from my voice." 

He's staring at Guti in shock, because everything that Guti says is completely, utterly true, and no one's ever had the guts to say it before. No one's ever _understood_ it before. 

"Play," Guti says, and he's almost pleading with Esteban. 

Esteban stares at Guti, then lets his eyes flick to Javi and Rubén. Javi's got Rubén in a head-lock and is nodding furiously even though he has no idea what Guti's just said to him. 

"Do you know 'Gracias a la vida'?" Esteban asks Guti. Guti nods, eyes narrowed, because that's a far slower song than the band usually plays. Esteban smiles, asks, "Can you sing it fast?" 

"I'll follow your lead," Guti says, the look of suspicion turning into one of pleased triumph. 

Esteban nods, bends his head over Sofia, and starts to play. 

It's meant to be a solemn song, slow and stately, but Esteban plays it fast and Guti sings it coy, more like a pop love song than anything else. The others in the band are clapping, shouting out lyrics every so often, and the stage vibrates from the stomping that everyone's doing. 

Esteban can feel the music curl and coil around him, feels it beating through his body like blood. He looks up near the end of the song, finds Guti looking back at him, and their eyes lock as Guti sings the last few lines. 

"...your song that is mine, too," Guti sings, softly, right to Esteban, "and the song of all which is my own song." 

Esteban holds the note even as Guti's voice goes silent, and they both jump when the band, when the patrons, when every single person in the restaurant, it seems, calls out the last line. 

"Thanks to the life that has given me so much." 

There's a moment of quiet so absolute that Esteban can hear the pounding of his heart, and then the restaurant _explodes_ in applause and cheering. 

Esteban stares at Guti, who is staring right back at him, and Ernesto leans over, murmurs, "You have the touch to tame even the wildest creatures on this planet with your music, _mi hijo_. It is a gift." 

Guti blinks and turns away; Esteban feels naked, bereft and only feels better when Guti looks over his shoulder at Esteban a moment later. 

Esteban stands up, unsteady on his feet, and leaves Sofia on his chair. He wades through the crowd to where Rubén and Javi are. 

"What the _fuck_ ," Javi says. 

Rubén smacks the back of Javi's head, says, "Thank god Miguel called us or we would have missed that. Fuck, our little pirate's all grown up." Rubén ruffles Esteban's hair but there's still a look of shock in his face. 

"Where's the paper?" Esteban asks. Rubén and Javi exchange looks and Javi pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. 

Esteban snatches the report out of Javi's hands and looks down at it. The paper's folded, he can't see what's written on the inside, but his name's scrawled on the outside in the familiar writing of his advisor. 

With a flourish, Esteban rips the paper in two and gives it back to Javi. Esteban smiles at his friends, turns to go back to the stage. He meets Guti's eyes across the room and blushes, but keeps his chin held high. 

Esteban's too far away to hear Guti laughing, but he knows what it sounds like. 

It sounds like music. It sounds like the most perfect music on the face of the planet.


End file.
